


Cold Coffee in the Morning

by SummerFrost



Series: Coffee Shop AU [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU Where no one does hockey lol, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Background Relationships, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Barista Kent, Business Owner Bitty, Communication, Complicated Relationships, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory Negotiations, Professor Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: Kent and Bitty were doing pretty well, as far as sort-of functional exes masquerading as co-workers and best friends go. That was until Jack Zimmermann, newly hired professor at Samwell University, moved into town and disrupted their carefully constructed equilibrium.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've never really posted something as a WIP before, but I thought this fic would be a nice project to start with! I'm hoping for short but relatively frequent updates <3 Tags and rating might be adjusted as I go along, but I'm not expecting any warnings to be too heavy. If there are areas of concern I'll add them to the author's note for the chapter to help people prepare/read around!
> 
> Thanks to shipped-goldstandard for her beta-ing <3 
> 
> Title from Cold Coffee by Ed Sheeran

Bitty is kneading his third batch of bread dough of the day when Kent pokes his head through the door and whistles to get his attention—instead of just saying something like a normal person, because he’s an asshole. Bitty ignores him.

“Bitty,” Kent whines, “come out here for a sec.”

“I’m busy,” Bitty huffs, jamming his hands back into the dough pointedly.

Kent says, “Café emergency,” in an entirely unconvincing tone and vanishes back through the door.

For reasons entirely unknown even to himself, Bitty shoves his dough in the refrigerator and follows. “Kent, what could possibly—oh my God.” Bitty follows Kent’s gaze and narrowly avoids smacking himself in the face with the door. There’s a dark haired man sitting in the corner of the café, who seems to be going through a stack of papers—maybe grading them? His cheekbones were custom-designed by God himself and his eyes—what gives anyone the right to have eyes that _blue?_

“That’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“I feel like I should be offended but I don’t even care,” Kent remarks, resting his elbow on Bitty’s shoulder.

Bitty pats his arm. “Sweetheart, you know I think you’re _very_ pretty—but that man is a god.”

Kent hums in agreement and makes no move to go back to work, and Bitty isn’t exactly in a rush to walk away from the view either. After a minute, the coffee Kent was apparently brewing finishes and he snags a mug to pour a cup from the carafe. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is the only customer in the shop—they just opened ten minutes ago, after all—so Bitty figures it must be for him.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Bitty says.

Kent snorts and sets the mug down on the counter. “How’re you gonna do that?”

Bitty smirks. “I’m gonna bring him his coffee,” he answers smugly, reaching for the mug.

“Dude—” Kent smacks Bitty’s hand away lightly. “Fuck off, that’s my job.”

Bitty takes a step towards the mug anyway, an eyebrow raised in challenge, and Kent’s eyes glint with mischief. “I don’t see why I can’t be sociable and take a customer his coffee.”

“You work in the _bakery,”_ Kent argues, shifting to block Bitty’s path. “I should get—”

“I _own_ the bakery.” Bitty shoves at Kent’s chest playfully and huffs when Kent grabs at his hand to grapple with him. “I’m your boss!”

They tousle for a minute, and Bitty is just about to squirm out of Kent’s grip—really—when an unfamiliar voice interrupts them.

“If you’re the boss, why does he have you in a headlock?”

Bitty squeaks with surprise and looks up to find Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome standing at the counter, a tentative smile on his face. Kent shifts so he looks a little less like he was just trying to murder his supervisor and clears his throat with an awkward laugh.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Bitty apologizes briskly, elbowing Kent in the side. “And don’t mind him, I’m firin’ him tomorrow anyway.”

The customer’s eyes widen comically and Kent laughs. “He’s kidding. Probably. Here’s your coffee man, sorry for the wait.”

“Oh, ah—that’s okay,” the customer says, wrapping his hands resolutely around the mug. “I’ll be here for a while grading, anyway.”

He lingers at the counter just long enough that Bitty doesn’t feel like he’s being a bother by asking, “Oh, are you a teacher?”

“Ah, a professor, yeah.” And, well—the man certainly looks the part, dressed in an adorably frumpy sweater-vest that doesn’t _quite_ match the shirt and tie he has on underneath, and yet somehow still pulling it off perfectly. It’s a crime, honestly. “I just got a position at Samwell this semester.”

Kent, still loitering—which definitely _isn’t_ what Bitty is doing— leans against the display case and shoots their customer a winning smile. “Cool, what department?”

The bell jingles and a group of college-aged girls who look like they just got out of a team practice wander up to the register. Bitty nudges Kent again and asks, with a gloating pleasantry, “Kent, could you go take care of those customers?”

“Chris’s got ‘em,” Kent answers flippantly, eyes still fixed on their professor.

Which is technically true. Chris, bless his heart, has already zipped over to take everyone’s orders, his voice more chipper than anyone’s has a right to be at six AM. Bitty sighs. Kent flicks him on the shoulder.

“Uh, history.” The customer either doesn’t notice the small exchange or ignores it, judging by the quirk of his lips when he takes a sip of his coffee. “My dissertation was on World War Two but I’ve branched out since then.”

Bitty makes a cursory attempt at seeming like he’s working by sliding open the display case and rearranging some of his pastries. “Oh? How so?”

“Ah. I’ve shifted my focus to queer history, specifically, across multiple time periods.”

Bitty nearly bangs his head on the top of the display case in his excitement. “That’s—oh, goodness—that’s wonderful, um—”

“Jack.”

“That’s really nice, Jack,” Bitty says, his smile bright. “That’s, um—something that’s obviously really important to us here.”

Jack tilts his head, seeming a little confused, which—oh, maybe he doesn’t know—

“We’re an LGBT café,” Kent explains, still leaned up against the display case like he owns it, smirking. “Like a gay bar, except less fun.”

Bitty hip checks him into the counter. “Hush, we’re plenty fun.” Kent waggles his eyebrows at Jack and winks. Bitty might skip the firing and actually kill him.

“Um, that’s pretty cool,” Jack says. “I’ll be honest, I had no idea when I came in, but—” he pauses, expression sheepish like he’s not quite used to saying things like this. “It’s, ah, another reason to come back.” There’s another pause and Bitty’s heart does a little flip, God help him, before Jack adds, “Um. The first reason is—the coffee. It’s really good.”

Kent shoots Bitty a smug look, and yeah, he does brew a damn good cup of coffee but _honestly._

“Well, in that case I better set you up with a muffin on the house—make sure you have a third reason,” Bitty offers cheerfully, and maybe it’s a little more brazen than he should be, but he’s pretty sure he can pass it off as Southern hospitality if he really needs to. Kent, apparently unimpressed, does a not-quite-eyeroll that Bitty only catches because he’s had years of previous experience.

“Oh, you really don’t have to—”

Bitty waves him off and ducks his head into the display case. “Sure, but I’d like to! Are you a banana nut kinda person or a lemon poppy seed kinda person, Jack?”

Kent makes an entirely inappropriate comment about nuts under his breath. Bitty pretends he doesn’t hear and stifles a laugh.

“Um, the lemon poppy seed sounds great, thanks,” Jack answers, and smiles shyly when Bitty hands it over, their fingers brushing momentarily as he does. “I should get back to grading but, really, thank you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kent says, “It was great meeting you man.”

Jack nods, still smiling. “You too, ah—” his eyes flick down to read Kent’s nametag. “—Kent. And, um—?” He turns to Bitty, questioning.

“You can call me Bitty. I’ll turn into a pumpkin if I don’t get back to the kitchen soon, but I hope we’ll see you around?” Bitty asks, brushing flour off his apron absent-mindedly and grinning at Jack.

Jack answers, “I’ll be here until my first class starts,” and then seems to realize, a beat later, that that isn’t quite what Bitty meant. “Oh, um. Yeah, I think—I’ll definitely come back.”

Bitty laughs and gives a little wave as Jack scurries back to his table with a self-deprecating smile, then immediately drags Kent into the kitchen with him.

“Oh my God.”

Kent groans appreciatively. “I know, right? Christ, I’d climb him like a fucking tree.”

_“Kenneth,”_ Bitty scolds, but he can’t quite keep the smile off his face.

“Psh, like you wouldn’t?”

Bitty smirks. “No, I’m a Southern gentleman.” He pauses, just to relish the look of suspense on Kent’s face properly, before finishing, “I’d ride him like a bull at a rodeo.”

They both laugh, Bitty leaning up against the counter for support and Kent’s eyes flashing.

“Really though,” Bitty adds more seriously after a moment, “you know we shouldn’t _actually_ sleep with our customers, right?”

Kent hums and takes a step forward, pushing up into Bitty’s space. His voice is quiet, thick around the edges. “Yeah, is that more or less taboo than fucking your coworker?”

Bitty shivers despite himself. Kent smells mostly like coffee grounds and faintly of cologne, the same spiced scent his mother buys him every year for Christmas, and he’s so close it’d take nothing at all to touch him, put a hand against his chest or brush fingers across his cheek.

But. “There’s a reason we don’t do that anymore,” Bitty reminds him softly. It takes everything he has to do it.

“It’s a shitty reason,” Kent says, like he does every time. But he moves back away, a respectable foot of space that feels like miles and nothing at all. His eyes are dark now, pained, and it’s six AM and they’ll stay like that all day.

“I know,” Bitty answers, like he does every time. He musters a shaky smile that doesn’t fool either of them and chirps, “Go pretend to work. I’ve got bakin’ to do.”

Kent smirks faintly and whispers, “Yessir,” probably because he knows it’ll make Bitty’s stomach twist up—because he knows it’ll hurt.

“I really should fire you,” Bitty threatens, with absolutely no heat behind it, like he does once a week. Because he knows that’ll hurt too.

Kent gives him a mock salute as he walks through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnghh updating as I go is so weird here's chapter 2? <3

Jack walks into Rise and Grind (which, in retrospect, definitely should have tipped him off to the gay thing) a little after one-thirty, shaking the snow off his hat and gloves and stomping his boots on the welcome mat. The bell jingles and Derek, who seems like he’s manning the register today, looks up from a book to greet him.

“Hey, dude, the usual?” he asks, already ringing up Jack’s order.

Jack smiles sheepishly. He’s been coming here for almost two months now, and all the baristas have figured out he’s a creature of habit: a medium-roast coffee—no room for cream—and a lemon poppy seed muffin. Somewhat belatedly, while he’s already handing over his card, he says, “Yeah, thanks.”

Muffin and afternoon coffee in hand, Jack retreats to his usual table in the corner. Larissa is curled up in an armchair nearby, sketching; she looks up briefly and nods at him, then goes back to her work. Jack frequents the shop enough that he’s friendly with all of the staff and most of the other regulars, like Larissa. He enjoys the small community that seems to have formed here, and he knows Bitty is proud of it too.

Jack likes talking to Bitty the most out of anyone. Well, except maybe Kent, but they tend to come as a package deal anyway. Not that Jack minds, exactly, but—sometimes seeing them together makes him a little lonely in a way he can’t really describe.

But in any case, he is pleasantly surprised when Kent walks out of the kitchen, shaking flour out of his hair. He’s wearing a white baking apron, which is unusual. He’s also working on a Sunday, apparently, which is also unusual. Jack tilts his head thoughtfully and waves at Kent when he looks over.

Kent grins and waves back, then grabs himself a pastry from the case seemingly at random before walking over. “Hey, Jack. ‘Sup?”

“Ah, hey. I just got in. Are you on lunch break?” Jack asks at the exact moment Kent shoves half his spinach-stuffed croissant into his mouth.

“Mhm,” Kent says, talking around his mouthful. “This morning was fucked.”

Jack hums sympathetically. “Is that why you’re in?” He worries momentarily that it’s a little inappropriate that he has Kent’s schedule memorized, but Kent doesn’t seem concerned.

“Yeah. Two people called out—including Will—and Bits’s parents are in town so I took the kitchen for him.” Kent takes another (smaller) bite of his lunch and shrugs.

Huh. Jack knits his eyebrows together and asks, confused, “You’re not spending time with them too?”

Kent’s eyes narrow in a wary, puzzled look. “Uh, no?”

“Oh, um— _ oh.”  _ And now Jack feels pretty insensitive. Bitty is from Georgia, and just because he’s out up at Samwell doesn’t mean he’s out to everyone. “Do they—they don’t know you’re together?”

Something quick and—unhappy?—flashes across Kent’s face. He doesn’t answer until he’s finished chewing this time, and says quietly, “We’re not together.”

Oh. Shit. And  _ now  _ Jack feels like an idiot. He’d been so sure—Kent and Bitty are so comfortable with each other, always flirting and getting in each other’s space. Which is something Kent does with almost everyone; he’s a very physical person, frequently draping an arm around a coworker’s shoulders or nudging someone out of the way to get to a machine he needs.

Bitty, though, is…not. Jack’s never seen Bitty interact with anyone like he does with Kent. He’s always a little distant, warm but very polite, definitely not roughhousing or squabbling like Jack witnessed the first day he visited the café. So he thought—well. Apparently he was wrong.

“Oh, uh—sorry. I assumed and I, uh. Clearly shouldn’t have,” he apologizes, eyes fixed on his coffee mug guiltily.

“S’okay, man. We, uh—we used to. Back in college. But—we broke it off when Bitty opened this place.” Kent shrugs and asks blandly, in a way that suggests he doesn’t actually agree in the slightest, “Gotta be professional, right?”

Privately, Jack thinks professionalism is a moot point when he, the least observant person he knows, could still pick up on their history together. But, then again—maybe he’s wrong. Maybe there were signs—tension, or regret—that he didn’t pick up on at all. So he’s not going to say any of that.

Instead, Jack says, “Uh. Yeah, I guess. I’m—sorry?” He feels like he should be sorry. And he does feel awkward for bringing it up when it’s clearly all sore and complicated, but. Maybe he’s also thinking— “So, are you single?”

Kent laughs, too loud and startled sounding. “I’m so fuckin’ single it’s kinda pathetic, man. So’s Bitty.”

“Oh. Um.” Jack realizes he hasn’t even touched his muffin. He busies himself with unwrapping it and cutting it into pieces with his fork.

“Anyway,” Kent offers, “I’m gonna go make myself a latte so I don’t pass out before closing. Want one?” Which is kind of strange to do, because Jack very clearly has a half-full of coffee right in front of him and has never asked for a latte in his life. It’s really the only thing that betrays how flustered Kent is by the conversation they just had.

Jack declines, “I’m fine, but thanks.”

Kent hops up out of his chair, shoving the rest of his croissant into his mouth, and waves over his shoulder as he walks away.

Larissa looks up from her sketchbook and raises a very pointed eyebrow at Jack. He shrugs in response and takes a bite of his muffin. She looks back down, an amused smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

Jack is supposed to be preparing for his afternoon lecture, but his mind is too cluttered to even think about pulling out his laptop and editing slides. He’s spent the last few months assuming a lot of things that weren’t true, and learning the real situation is—complicated feeling.

Jack doesn’t think about relationships that often, especially not romantic ones. And for the most part he feels comfortable with that. He’s started to make friends in his department and in the coffee shop, he calls his parents every few weeks, and that’s been enough.

But—he’d thought Bitty and Kent were both unavailable. So it’d been easy to not think about why he has their schedules memorized, why he likes to make a point of showing up when Bitty takes his lunch break, why it’s so nice to watch Kent dance around to the radio while he brews coffee. It’s a little less easy, now, and Jack presses his lips to his coffee mug while he broods on that fact.

The first problem is that it’s probably inappropriate to hit on either of them when they’re working. It’s—people can feel pressured to say yes, because they need to be polite and everything. Even though, looking back, Jack is actually pretty sure they’ve both been flirting with him the whole time they’ve known him.

The second problem is—well, bigger. Because even if Bitty and Kent aren’t dating right now, Jack feels like they should be. He thinks it’s pretty clear that the feelings run deep there. They probably love each other, he realizes, and—even if he  _ was  _ the kind of person who felt comfortable getting in the way of that, he’s relatively certain it wouldn’t work. Jack’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure the way to finding lasting happiness isn’t through creating a love triangle.

So, there’s all that. Jack groans and buries his face in his hands—a little overdramatically, but he’s allowed to have his moments. There’s a tap on his shoulder and Jack looks up to see Larissa standing next to him. She hands him a piece of paper torn out from her sketchbook, which he unfolds with mild confusion.

It’s a relatively detailed portrait of his face, except she’s erased his eyes and replaced them with cartoon-ish hearts, sparkles and all. There’s a caption, too, that reads: “Professor ‘Heart-eyes’ Zimmermann.”

“Thanks,” Jack says drily. She pats him on the head and wanders away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rise and Grind" was named thanks to [a name generator website](http://fantasynamegenerators.com/cafe-names.php) I am not that good at names on my own lol


	3. Chapter 3

Kent wakes up on Saturday morning hungover, fully clothed, and sprawled in his own bed. Which is better than naked and/or in someone else’s bed, so he calls it a win. He wiggles out of his skinny jeans in favor of a pair of sweatpants before wandering out into his living room, and is only marginally surprised to find Bitty asleep on his couch.

Bitty’s got eyeliner smudged across his face from last night and glitter in his hair, which honestly just makes Kent glad he didn’t check his own reflection in the mirror when he got up, because he’s positive he looks at least three hundred percent more trashy than that. Also, Bitty is perfect and Kent kind of wants to die. Just, like, as a side note.

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” he sing-songs with all the enthusiasm he can dredge up, and kicks Bitty in the shin.

“Ugh.” Bitty stretches languidly, yawning as he arches his back, and cracks one eye open suspiciously. “You can’t call me sunshine if the real sun ain’t even up yet.”

Kent smirks and ruffles Bitty’s hair, which is a terrible decision because he sheds glitter like a cat all over Kent’s couch. “Rise and shine, responsible adult who has to be at his job in half an hour.”

“Fuck,” Bitty grouses rolling to his feet and shuffling into the kitchen like a zombie. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

Kent dumps food into Kit’s bowl and pours himself a cup of coffee. “’Cause I slept through every alarm ‘cept the last one.”

Bitty huffs and makes grabby hands at Kent’s mug, which he hands over nonchalantly. Bitty takes a long drink that he immediately spits out into the sink with disgust—probably because the coffee was brewed yesterday and is super cold and stale.  _ “Gross,  _ Kenny!”

“You fall for that every time, and you’ve known me how long?” Kent teases, but he slides a mug into the microwave to reheat anyway.

Bitty grumbles, “I put entirely too much faith in you.” Which—true. The microwave beeps and Bitty retrieves his own cup, while Kent keeps drinking his cold. “I still don’t know how you stand that.”

Kent shrugs and heads back towards his bedroom so he can change. “I kinda like it.”

“I pay you to brew gourmet coffee,” Bitty whispers in only sort-of mock horror. He follows Kent in and starts digging through his drawer for something to wear—since he definitely shouldn’t show up to work in booty shorts and a crop top. It’s probably not normal that Bitty still  _ has  _ a drawer, but Kent’s sure as fucking hell not gonna tell him to pack it up.

Kent doesn’t answer Bitty, too focused on getting dressed without doing anything weird. Like watching Bitty slip out of his shirt and into the sweater Kent’s mom bought him three Christmases ago and feeling his chest go tight at the sight. It’d be pretty fucking weird, if Kent did that. But he doesn’t. Really.

They shift into the bathroom and Bitty curses when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. “Shit, I’m gonna get glitter all over the kitchen. Can I use your shower?”

Kent chokes on a mouthful of toothpaste and the words,  _ ‘Only if I can join you.’  _ Which he’d definitely say if he felt like getting into another not-fight. It’s a close call as it is, but his hangover keeps him in check, so he just tells Bitty, “Sure,” and resolutely does not look as Bitty strips down again and folds that sweater very carefully on the edge of the sink.

There aren’t any towels in the bathroom because Kent lives like a heathen (according to Bitty), so he snags one from his laundry basket and leaves it for Bitty next to his clothes. Ten minutes and one steamed up—in the least exciting way possible—bathroom later, they’re both ready to go and hurrying out of the apartment.

“Can we carpool?” Bitty asks, already sliding into Kent’s passenger seat. “My head feels like someone took a hammer to it.”

So does Kent’s, to be honest. But he agrees—because he’s pretty shit at telling Bitty no to anything, if that hasn’t become blatantly fucking apparent—and they leave Bitty’s car in the parking lot to be picked up after work.

Less than a minute into their drive, Kent looks over at Bitty, who’s got his temple pressed to the window and is watching the snow-laden trees blur past. He clears his throat and Bitty’s eyes flick over as he says, “You, uh. You could’ve gone home with that guy, you know.” Bitty raises an unimpressed eyebrow, so Kent adds, “Like, you left when I said I was heading out and—I wasn’t like, trying to cockblock you or anything.”

Bitty shrugs noncommittally. “Don’t think he liked me that much, anyway.”

Kent’s laugh clips on the way out of his throat. “He was practically fucking drooling over you and we both know it.”

“Okay,” Bitty says slowly, like he’s trying to placate Kent or something.

Which, fuck that. But it’s too early in the morning and Kent’s head hurts too much to argue over the objective attractiveness of his ex-boyfriend. Not exactly a great hangover cure.

So Kent ignores the edge in Bitty’s tone and keeps talking. “It’s just, uh. It’s…been a while for both of us. I mean, we haven’t—like, at all.” Well, except for the fucking pathetic sex-filled bender Kent went on right after Bitty dumped him. But they’ve both done a pretty spectacular job of pretending  _ that  _ never happened and he’s gonna keep it that way.

Bitty sighs, “Kent—”

“Jack thought we were dating,” Kent says quickly, before Bitty can spit out whatever he was trying to say. “For two fucking months he thought—and he’s not the first, and I just—what the fuck are we doing, Bits?”

Bitty deflects, “When’d he tell you that?”

They’re almost at Rise and Grind. Kent slows down to a solid five under the speed limit. “Last Sunday, when Coach and Ma—Suzanne were in town.”

Bitty blows a long stream of air out from his nose. He sounds like he’s gonna cry. “I can’t do this with you right now.”

Or ever, apparently. Kent ignores him. “He asked if I was single. He sounded—fuck—like, interested.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Kenny,” Bitty begs, wet eyes fixed resolutely out the window. “What the f-fuck am I supposed to say to you?”

The thing is, Kent doesn’t know what he wants to hear either. He barely knows why he’s forcing this fucking conversation, except that ever since he talked to Jack he’s carried it like a creature in his chest, some twisted desperate thing threatening to claw its way out.

They turn into the parking lot and Kent idles the engine. It’s starting to snow, tiny pretty little flakes that stick to the windshield. Bitty says, “You don’t need my permission.”

Kent shuts the engine off. They have forty-five minutes to prep the café to open; it normally takes an hour and a half. He closes his eyes and says, “Sure as fuck sounds like I do.”

By the time Kent opens his eyes, Bitty’s already slammed the car door shut behind him.

 

~*~

 

The day isn’t going well. Chris comes in at six when they open to the public, takes one look at Kent, and says, “Morning! You look like shit!” with the same goddamn enthusiasm he says everything else.

And like, normally Kent appreciates Chris’s zeal and the fact that he’s the only person on the planet who takes the early morning shift without any bitching—but Bitty’s been bustling in and out of the kitchen without so much as a glance towards Kent, and that’s not really unusual on mornings when they’re behind like this, but—there’s intent behind it now, a coldness, and Kent kind of wants to strangle someone.

Which is why Kent isn’t excited as he normally is when Jack comes in at lunch time, pink-cheeked from the cold and smiling a little to himself like the weather is a gift. But Kent is, slowly but surely, learning how to not take his shit out on people who don’t deserve it. So he manages to smile at Jack when he grabs him his food, and promises to come sit with him once he gets a chance to take his lunch break.

“Hey,” Jack greets when Kent finally sits down almost an hour later. “Late night?”

Kent laughs and scrubs a hand over his face. “What gave it away?”

Jack offers a wry smile over the rim of his coffee cup. “I feel like it’s impolite to answer that question.”

“Ugh. We went clubbing for an old college friend’s birthday,” Kent gripes, “and I’m getting too old for that shit.”

Jack asks, eyebrow raised, “Wait, how old are you?”

“Uh, thirty in July. Practically fucking ancient, man.”

“You’re my age,” Jack tells him, in that deadpan voice that means he’s messing with Kent a little.

It used to be flustering, but Kent’s used to the sense of humor by now, so he laughs again and says, “Yeah, exactly.”

Jack snorts into his coffee. There’s a break in the conversation that Kent uses to actually eat his lunch, shoving down whatever pastry he snagged from the case—apparently a cheese Danish, nice.

Jack never pushes the conversation when Kent doesn’t feel like talking, which he appreciates. He’s not sure if it’s because Jack just isn’t that big of a talker on his own or if he can sense Kent just wants some quiet, but—it’s really nice. Being around Jack is really nice, like, in general. Which kind of fucking sucks, because Kent isn’t sure how to handle that right now—considering he’s pretty much a certifiable hot mess and everything.

“Ah, I should head out. I’ll be back tonight for open mic, though.” Jack shuts his laptop and drains the last of his coffee. “Will you be there?”

“Uh, duh.” Kent jokes, “I sold my soul to this place, remember?”

The look on Jack’s face gives Kent the feeling he’s—not being  _ pitied,  _ but something close. Which is rich, considering all Jack ever does is teach or sit in this—okay, no. Kent takes a breath. He’s not gonna go there. Jack seems really happy with his life, which is more than Kent can say about himself at the moment, so. And like, Kent was literally just thinking about how much he likes spending time with Jack, which he only gets to do because Jack comes here almost every day.

“Does that mean you have to sing?” Jack asks wryly.

Kent manages a smirk. “Hell no. The world isn’t ready for my beautiful voice. You, though—” he prods Jack playfully, “—should give it a shot.”

Jack’s eyes crinkle around the edges, which is way more fucking adorable than it has any right to be. “I’ll think about it.”

“You say that every month, asshole,” Kent mutters, and Jack laughs as he heads out the door.

Kent is so fucking screwed. He rubs at his eyes and looks up to find Larissa peering at him from over the edge of her sketchpad, wearing a smug expression. “I see you watching me,” he accuses, narrowing his eyes and doing his best to sound affronted.

“Want your picture?” she asks, flipping around her sketchpad to show the drawing off. Kent has stars for eyes and he’s drooling.

Kent gives her the finger under the table and she cackles, flipping her book back around and turning to a new page. God fucking bless the regulars.

 

~*~

 

The afternoon flies by in one of those awful customer service-induced hazes, until all of a sudden Chris is saying, “Bye, Kent! See you Tuesday!” and hanging up his apron.

“Wait, shit—it’s already three?” Kent asks, craning his neck to look at the clock while he hands a woman her mocha.

“Um, yeah. Why?”

Kent pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think Bitty even ate breakfast.”

“Oh!” Chris pauses on his way to the door. “I can bring him something if you want!”

Kent looks around. Will’s been in for an hour, Derek’s already putting on an apron to replace Chris, and the line is pretty short. “Nah, I got it. Thanks, though.”

He waves goodbye to Chris and then throws together a sandwich, makes Bitty’s favorite latte, and braces himself as he steps into the kitchen.

Bitty is pounding into a ball of dough like it’s personally offended him. He doesn’t look up when Kent clears his throat, so Kent walks over and hip-checks him—lightly, because Bitty gets a little jumpy when he’s in a mood like this.

“Hey, Bits,” Kent says gently. “Take a break from baking your feelings and eat them instead?”

Bitty looks up and glares, but it’s one of the soft ones that means he’s not really that mad anymore. He eyes the sandwich reluctantly. “Let me finish these tarts first.”

“Fuck off, I’ll do it.” Kent nudges Bitty again, harder this time, and shoves the plate into his hands before he can say no.

While Kent washes his hands at the sink, Bitty hops up onto a clear patch of counter to rest his feet and crunches into his BLT. He doesn’t say anything at first, apparently content to watch Kent work—and make sure he doesn’t butcher anything. Kent does a decent job in the bakery, but he’s obviously no Bitty.

Then Bitty says, so quietly Kent barely hears him over the sound of the rolling pin, “You’re too good to me.”

Kent’s stomach twists. He does he best to brush it off. “What was I supposed to do, let you starve ‘cause I was pissed at you?”

Bitty snorts. “Kinda, yeah.” He doesn’t really mean that, probably, but—they’ve both been that petty before. It turns out you see a lot of someone’s low moments after six years.

Not sure what to say, Kent focuses on cutting the dough now that it’s the right thickness. This has always been his worst part, so Bitty lets him work in silence until he has all the shells shaped to be filled. He opens up the fridge and finds two mixing bowls with fillings inside.

“Uh, which one are these for?”

“I’m sorry for this morning,” Bitty says instead, which clearly doesn’t answer the question but whatever. Kent’ll bite.

He closes the fridge and presses his forehead against the door. “Uh. Thanks. I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have—” he gestures vaguely with a wave of his arm, “—ambushed you like that.”

Bitty hops off the counter and walks over to stand at Kent’s side, not touching him but close enough that the hairs stand up on Kent’s arms. “No, I—you know me. I’d rather ignore something ‘till it blows up in my face.” He laughs weakly—going for self-deprecating, probably, but falling short and ending up just miserable-sounding instead. “We could’ve had that talk a long time ago.”

Kent doesn’t know anything to say back that won’t sound pathetic or snide—with his luck it’d come out as both at once. He turns his head, cheek resting against the cool metal door, and stares at Bitty like he could drop right through the floor and vanish.

“I should let you go,” Bitty whispers, like the words might char his lips on the way out. “It’s not—it’s not fair.”

There’s a part of Kent that wants to punch something. His knuckles itch with the hunger of it, whisper a siren song that tells him if he puts a dent in Bitty’s industrial refrigerator his heart might hurt just a little fucking less. He reaches for Bitty instead—gently, a brush of fingers against Bitty’s wrist that he accepts, steps closer into the touch.

“I don’t—what if I don’t want that?” Kent asks, voice hoarser than it should be.

“You should, Kent,” Bitty insists. His hand slips back away. “I—you said it yourself, it’s been two  _ years  _ and we still—we haven’t let it be really over.”

Kent closes his eyes and breathes. What Kent wants—he sees baking in a shitty apartment kitchen covered in flour, New Year’s Eve on a random frat house roof with cheap champagne, Christmas sweaters folded up in wrapped boxes. He sees coming home from the shelter with a one-eyed devil cat instead of a puppy, kissing in the back of a pickup truck on his birthday. He says, “I don’t want ‘over.’ I miss you.”

Bitty laughs—or tries to. It sounds more like a hiccup, something sudden and sad that jumps out of his chest without permission. “I’m right here, hun. Maybe—maybe that’s the problem.”

“What’re you saying?” Kent’s voice shakes over the words.

“I—I’m saying—if we ever want  _ us _ back…you need to walk away, Kenny.” Bitty wipes at his eyes and hides a sniffle against his hand. “Get some space and— _ breathe _ —and, maybe—maybe—” he grabs at Kent’s hand instead of finding words, clasps it between both of his in what Kent hopes to God is a promise.

Kent collapses forward, down into Bitty’s arms and buries his face into his neck with a hope-shocked sob. “I—are you—you want to—?”

The question is muffled against Bitty’s skin, incomplete and barely intelligible, but he understands anyway. “Y-yeah, I—I do. But I can’t—not like this.”

Kent lifts his head, pulling away just enough to look Bitty in the eye and flash a smile. “Are you firing me, Bits?”

“It’s about time,” Bitty teases. His voice is thick but his eyes are bright, glistening with the happiest tears Kent’s seen in a long time. “You’re a horrible employee.”

Kent snorts. “No I’m not.”

Bitty’s smile is melancholic. “No, you’re not.” He runs his hands up and down Kent’s arms, an affection so familiar the ache nearly brings Kent to his knees. “You’ll stay until you find a new job?”

“Yeah,” Kent breathes, leaning in to press his forehead against Bitty’s. “Yeah, of course.”

The moment of quiet is punctuated by the hum of the refrigerator, the discreet ticking of the clock hung on the far wall. Bitty asks, “And then…?”

A smile spreads across Kent’s face, lips just barely parted with an almost-laugh. “Then, I’m getting you a huge ass bouquet of flowers for our new first date.”

Bitty does laugh, sun-filled and a little playful, and taunts, “Not if I get you some first.”

“You’re on, Bittle,” Kent whispers. He dips down to place a kiss on the tip of Bitty’s nose and Bitty gives a soft sigh in response that sends a shiver right through Kent’s body, and Christ—Kent wants to kiss every inch, brush lips across his cheeks, his mouth, the hollow of his throat where it always makes him moan. He could—he could have that again, could feel Bitty against him warm and rough and fluid, melting at his touch. The feeling’s been gone for so long—left a vacuum between his ribs so dense it ached to breathe—and, fuck, he wonders if anything could live there again.

“Go pretend to work,” Bitty murmurs. “Make sure Will and Derek aren’t killin’ each other out there.”

Kent laughs as he pulls away. “Christ, can you imagine the legal nightmare that would be? No fucking thank you.”

Bitty hums and muses, “We could convert to a haunted house.”

“Resourceful.”

Bitty gives him a wink before turning back to his tarts, humming something vaguely Beyoncé under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's angst brought to you by my grubby hands, that soil everything they touch.
> 
> We're halfway (by chapter, not by word count who knows what my word count will be not me lol) the fic! Updates might slow down a *tiny* bit but hopefully not too much!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, two days ago: Updates might be a little delayed!!  
> Me, a filthy liar: Here have some soft boys celebrating the holidays
> 
> **Warnings for this chapter:** Brief mentions of past homophobia and transphobia. Notably features Bitty's complicated relationship with his family.

On Christmas Day, Bitty wakes up at four AM. He fights the temptation to snooze his alarm and rolls out of bed, wincing when his feet hit the floor a little harder than he meant them to and the shock travels up his ankles. He tucks  Señor Bun back under the covers, fingers lingering over the love-worn fabric, the spot with off-color stitching from the first time he sewed up a tear without his mother’s help, the mismatched button eyes.

And then he gets ready for work.

 

~*~

 

Bitty is unlocking the café when Kent’s beat up sedan pulls into the parking lot, sputtering exhaust as the engine wheezes back into dormancy. Bitty leans up against the door and waits, watching with a little tweak in his heart as Kent clambers out into the cold and, predictably, nearly catches his scarf in the car door.

Kent is dressed in a tacky Christmas sweater, featuring a cat wearing a Santa hat and dangling an ornament from its paw, and he has a cheap headband with reindeer antlers gracing his own head—his cowlicks are all springing up from underneath the headband, and Bitty feels the familiar urge to run his fingers through them.

“Merry Christmas, Bits,” Kent greets, voice still warm and raspy with sleep, and gathers Bitty up into a hug.

Bitty mumbles, “Merry Christmas, hun,” into Kent’s shoulder and lingers there, takes in the scratch of wool against his cheek, the flutter in his chest. The wind picks up a little, whipping snowflakes into their faces, and Bitty grumbles with disdain, burying his face deeper into Kent’s sweater.

Kent laughs fondly. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Mmph,” Bitty agrees, and lets Kent shuffle him backwards through the door and into the café,  still clinging to him, soaking up the touch.

When they pull away, Kent brandishes a second reindeer headband and slides it gently onto Bitty’s head with a teasing smirk.

“Perfect,” he says, tracing a thumb down Bitty’s jaw before his hand drops away.

Bitty smiles, pink cheeked and probably a little doe-eyed, and runs his hand up and down Kent’s arm tenderly, squeezing at his shoulder. There’s a contentedness in this, little touches and murmured words while the sun rises and light begins to stretch through the windows, a reminder that Bitty’s life is swelling full.

He and Kent aren’t actually back together yet, committed to waiting for Kent to find his new job and for them to settle into their new lives. But—it’s easy for the lines to blur like this, into lingering hugs and kisses on cheeks, cuddling on the couch after a long day, the soft moments that make Bitty feel warm in his bones.

They have a crowd to prepare for, though, so Bitty doesn’t bask in the feeling quite as long as he’d like. He stayed late last night to bake in preparation for today, but he and Kent still have a lot to get done if they want to be able to relax once their friends and customers show up to celebrate, so he shoos Kent off to set up the space while he retreats to the back and starts up the ovens.

 

~*~

 

Hours fly by, and Bitty finds himself faced with a café stuffed full of people, which isn’t surprising in principle—given last year’s turnout—but is still a lot to take in, all things considered. Last year, Bitty had been planning on closing down for a few days—maybe take his parents’ offer up on a plane ticket to visit home—until a favorite customer of his told him that they were going to be up at school alone over Christmas because they were afraid to go home after coming out. And, well—that struck a nerve with Bitty, ate away at him in a way he couldn’t fully explain until he talked to Kent about it.

So it became Bitty’s mission to keep Rise and Grind at least partially open throughout all the holidays—especially times of year where people usually felt lonely—to give people a place they can always feel welcome. Maybe it’s a little self-important, but Bitty’s heart lifts when he sees the shop filled like this—swarmed with found-families and loved ones, and employees who volunteer to stay and help (some of whom, Bitty has a feeling, need this just as much).

Bitty stands watching everyone mingle, feeling a little wistful, and sighs happily when Kent comes up behind him and wraps arms around his waist.

“Whatcha thinkin’ babe?”

Bitty leans back against Kent’s chest. “Just—we’ve put so much into this place. Both of us.”

“Mhm?”

“I—and I feel—” Bitty hesitates, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “It feels so unfair and—selfish, making you leave.”

Kent hums in disagreement and dips in closer to hook his chin over Bitty’s shoulder. His antlers smush against Bitty’s temple. “You’re not  _ making  _ me leave. You asked for something you needed for us to work and I said I could give it.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Bitty’s mouth and murmurs, “I’m proud of you for that.”

Bitty feels his eyes water with the sudden wave of emotion that hits him. He tilts his head to look at Kent when he whispers, “Thank you.”

“Besides, I’m not really losing this place,” Kent says, nuzzling against Bitty’s cheek before turning to look out at the crowd again. “I’ll still help with events and stuff and, like, if my job ends up being close enough I’ll come on my lunch break.”

That feels a little strange to think about—Kent being here as a visitor, as Bitty’s boyfriend instead of the manager. But Kent is right—he’ll always be a part of the community here, even if his role changes. Bitty can’t fully shake the guilt, but he feels a little reassured, at least. And while the past two weeks have been wonderful, he can’t escape the itch in his brain that worries things would fall apart again if Kent kept working at Rise and Grind, that they’d fight again and—

“Oh hey, Jack’s here,” Kent says, nudging Bitty with his chin and pulling away.

Jack steps into the shop with his friend Shitty behind him—a brash but oddly charismatic man who also teaches at Samwell. Shitty’s come with Jack to a few Saturday night events before. Particularly the monthly mug paintings Larissa has been helping host, but that’s none of Bitty’s business.

Jack looks around and waves when he catches sight of Bitty and Kent. They move out from behind the counter to meet him, Bitty chuckling to himself as he watches Shitty peel off and make a beeline for Larissa, who is sketching in the corner as usual.

“Hey, Jack. Glad you could make it!” Bitty welcomes with a hug, knocking his antlers askew against Jack’s chest.

Kent hugs Jack too after Bitty pulls away, and says, “Happy Chanukah, asshole.”

Jack laughs, a short but pleased sound. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

“Do you want anything, hun?” Bitty asks. “We’ve got coffee and I think we’ve got a muffin or two left.”

“Oh, I’d love both, thanks.” Jack smiles and Bitty smiles back, excusing himself to go get Jack his food and a mug for himself, as well.

He watches as Kent and Jack make their way over to a couch and sit, maybe a little closer together than necessary even though there are people sitting on the other side of it. Jack is listening attentively as Kent waves his hands around telling some story, eyes bright and smile soft, and they look—so comfortable together, nice. Maybe it’s a weird thing for Bitty to think, but he can picture them as a couple. He can see Jack with his arm around Kent’s shoulders, Kent looking up at him with a smirk that just begs to be kissed off his face.

Bitty thinks about what Kent said, about Jack being interested. About how it was the first thing in nearly two years that made Kent really think about moving on. And—Bitty’s not really jealous; he’s never been that type, in general, and he’s sure that Kent loves him. He might feel a little guilty, though, because—well, Jack is incredibly sweet, and they could make each other happy, and—Bitty doesn’t want to lose Kent. That’s always been pretty clear, even before he was faced with it, had to make a choice about it. Except, watching Kent laugh and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, Bitty starts to think it wouldn’t be the worst thing to share him.

It’s something to consider, just—not yet, probably, with their lives already in the middle of so much change. He keeps the thought with him though, when he walks over with two mugs and a muffin balanced precariously on the crook of his arm.

Bitty puts the mugs down on a coffee table and plops down in Kent’s lap sideways, body angled towards Jack with his legs nudged up against Jack’s thighs.

Jack’s cheeks are a little pink when he takes his muffin and says, “Um. Thanks,” to Bitty’s kneecap. Bitty is so endeared it’s ridiculous.

“Of course, hun. Now what’d I miss?”

Kent squeezes Bitty’s hip and raises a subtle eyebrow, clearly questioning. Bitty shrugs minutely and turns back to Jack, who says, “Kent was telling me about Kit’s war on the Christmas tree.”

They sit and chat for a while, swapping stories about Kit and Jack’s childhood dog, until Kent checks his phone and says, “Oh, shit. Uh—”

He’s interrupted by his mom and sister bursting into the café, which is probably what his phone was supposed to alert them to ahead of time. Bitty elbows Kent in the ribs and stands up quickly to meet them.

Ms. Parson hugs Bitty before even greeting Kent—which Bitty will tease him for relentlessly later—tucking her head under his chin and fussing, “Eric, I swear you get taller every year.”

Bitty laughs. “I haven’t grown an inch in six years. But it’s good to see you, Ms. Parson.”

“One of these days I’ll break you,” she menaces, which Bitty highly doubts. Despite her insistence, he still feels uncomfortable calling her by her first name.

“Hey, Mom,” Kent sing-songs sarcastically, rolling his eyes and letting go of Izzy to finally hug her.

Bitty turns to Izzy and waves awkwardly; she smiles back thinly. While Kent’s mother still adores Bitty, Izzy has—more reasonably, in his opinion—been pretty cold to him since the breakup.

“Um, hi. How’s NYU?” he asks politely.

“Good.” Her tone squashes the conversation handily, which is just as well because when Bitty gets uncomfortable he tends to babble and there’s a lot on his mind right now that he probably shouldn’t spill to Kent’s little sister.

Kent steers his family to catch up with them in private; he hasn’t seen them in person since his birthday, and Bitty understands how hard that is. So he lets them be and returns to Jack on the couch, plopping down next to him and grabbing his abandoned mug.

“Family?” Jack asks, nodding towards the trio of blonds camped out at a table in the corner, near the Christmas tree.

“Mhm. His mom and sister,” Bitty says, sipping his lukewarm coffee.

Jack hesitates for a moment, then comments, “That must be a little, ah—awkward, for you.”

Bitty shrugs. “It’s not as bad as it could be. They’re both really sweet and their support meant a lot to us. And, um. I mean, it’s been a long time.”

“Right.” Jack crinkles up his muffin wrapper and sets it on the coffee table. “It’s nice they came down here, so Kent could be with—everyone—for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Bitty agrees.

Jack looks at Bitty thoughtfully. “Is that why your parents were here a few weeks ago? Since you wouldn’t be home?”

Bitty swallows down the hint of bitterness scratching at his throat. “Yeah. I wanted them to come to this, but—well, the family always does a lot for Christmas in Georgia.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I—” Jack pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “For what it’s worth, I—what you’ve done here is incredible.”

Bitty preens a little, purses his lips to bite back a smile. “Thank you, Jack. That really means a lot.”

“Yeah, I—of course. Are they—um, in general—?”

“Oh, well. You know…they’re trying.” Bitty’s lips twitch wryly. “Things are better when I’m single? It didn’t help that the first time they met Kent, he walked into the living room wearing nothing but boxers and one of my Georgia Bulldogs shirts.” In other words, looking recently and thoroughly fucked. Which he had been, but that sort of interfered with his parents’ consistent strategy of willful ignorance.

Jack laughs. “I wanna say I’m surprised, but—I’m really not.”

Bitty looks over at Kent, who glances up and winks before turning away. “I thought Coach—my dad—was gonna blow a gasket. I was mortified back then.”

“Not now?” Jack asks.

Kent is laughing at something his mother said. His cowlicks are starting to spring free from under his headband and they flop into his face when he shakes his head and Bitty loves him.

Bitty says, “Not really, no.”

The bell chimes and a group of girls walk in, bundled up to high heaven for the cold. Bitty recognizes Cait, Chris’s girlfriend, so he lets Chris take care of getting them settled. Jack shifts in his seat a little and comments, “It’s pretty crowded, eh?”

Bitty turns back to Jack, who actually seems a little uncomfortable now that Bitty thinks about it. “Um, yeah. Do you wanna get some air?”

“Oh.” Jack’s eyes widen a little and he looks out across the shop guiltily. “Um, yeah, actually. If—you don’t mind?”

The snow is falling harder now. It looks so cold outside that Bitty could probably cry. He stands and grabs his coat off the coat rack anyway, saying, “Nah, of course not,” and steals Kent’s scarf from where it’s hanging because it looks warmer than his own.

Jack smiles gratefully and shrugs into his own coat before heading towards the door. Bitty follows, but pauses when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

**_Kenny <3 (10:23 am): _ ** _ Everything ok? _

Bitty turns and gives Kent, who’s watching from his table, a reassuring wave.

**_Bitty (10:23 am):_ ** _ Yeah, just sitting outside w Jack he seemed nervous _

**_Kenny <3 (10:23 am): _ ** _ K :) _

Bitty finds Jack sitting on a bench a little ways down the sidewalk and joins him, tugging his scarf up higher around his neck. It isn’t as windy as it was this morning, which Bitty is grateful for, even if the amount of snow on the ground is a little distressing.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to snow on Christmas,” he says, stretching his leg out to nudge at a snowbank with his foot. “It feels so strange. Makes me miss the weather in Georgia.”

Jack chuckles, already looking calmer. “It’s the opposite for me. I can’t imagine Chanukah—or Christmas, I guess—without snow.”

Bitty quirks his lips. “Do you miss Canada?”

“Hm. Sometimes,” Jack says, looking up at the mostly clouded sky. “But I like it here. I got my Ph.D. in America, so it’s actually been a while, anyway.”

“Lord, I don’t know how you stood school for that long,” Bitty gripes. “I got my bachelor’s and ran.”

Jack laughs sheepishly. “Hah. Well, I don’t think I’d handle the pressure of running a business like this, so. I don’t know how you do it, either.”

Bitty smiles softly, turning his head to watch the people through the big café windows. “Sometimes I don’t either. I didn’t think I’d really get this—and not so soon, definitely.”

“You’re a lot younger than Kent, aren’t you?” Jack asks, curious.

“Oh, yeah. Almost five years exactly.”

Jack tilts his head. “How’d you two meet at college then?”

Bitty shrugs. “Weird luck, mostly. Kent took a few years off before he got to Samwell, and we met during his junior year. He stayed for his master’s, though, so we finished up at the same time.”

“Kent has a master’s?” Jack seems surprised, and Bitty turns back to look at him.

“In finance. Why?”

Jack purses his lips and looks down, apparently reluctant. Bitty waits patiently, and eventually Jack asks, “Sorry, I know this is…maybe private. But, why does Kent work here? He has a pretty competitive degree.”

Well, it’s not like Bitty wasn’t expecting that to come up eventually. He pulls his feet up onto the bench and wraps his arms around his legs in a token attempt at getting a little warmer, and asks, “Did Kent tell you how we broke up?”

“Um. He just said that you wanted to be more professional.”

Bitty laughs. “It’s a little more complicated, but that’s a decent summary I guess.” He pauses, resting his chin on his knees. “Um…when we were getting ready to graduate, I was looking into opening my own place. Kent—he helped me with so much of it. You’ve might’ve guessed it, but—he helped me come up with the name, even.”

Jack’s lips quirk. “I had a feeling.”

Bitty laughs again, happier this time. “His first idea was ‘Bitty’s Beans,’ but I shut that right down. But, um, anyway—the point is, Kent wanted to invest with me. We were gonna be business partners, run the shop together. But—he couldn’t afford to. My parents, they—I was really lucky, ‘cause they could pay for most of my tuition. Kent’s mom couldn’t, so he already had a lot of loans.” Jack hums sympathetically and Bitty buries his face further down into his knees. “And we—we started fighting a lot, about what to do about it and whether or not—whether I should take on all the debt myself. We were pretty miserable.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, gently and sincere.

“Thanks. So, I—eventually it got so bad I felt like I had to choose, I guess. And I did.” Bitty sucks in a deep breath to steady himself, squeezes his eyes shut. “I broke up with Kent and got the money to open Rise and Grind.”

Jack puts a hand on Bitty’s shoulder. “That must’ve been really hard.”

“I cried for—for weeks,” Bitty admits, voice hitching over the words. “And Kent showed up at my door a month later, saying—he still wanted to help me. He—he didn’t want me to have to do it all myself. I don’t know why he stayed with me so long, honestly.”

“I do,” Jack says softly. His eyes are bright, nearly translucent in the winter sun.

Bitty flushes and ducks his head. “I…do you wanna know a secret?” he asks, because he feels like maybe Jack should know. Because he hasn’t told anyone, and it feels like it won’t be real until he does.

“If you want.”

Bitty looks up with a tentative smile. “Kent’s leaving. He’s looking for a new job right now.”

“Oh.” Jack’s eyes widen. “Ah, leaving like—going away?”

“No, he’s not moving. Nowhere farther away than Boston or Providence,” Bitty clarifies, laughing a little to himself.

Jack hesitates, mouth parted in recognition. “So you two are—?”

“Sort of. Nothing official until he quits working. It’s—better that way, but…we want to.” Bitty watches Jack’s face carefully, sees how it falls a little even though he smiles.

“I’m happy for you,” he says, and Bitty mostly believes him. “I think—you’re good for each other.”

Bitty’s chest aches, a soft throb behind his ribs. “Thank you. Jack, I—you’re—”

The café’s door opens, revealing a peal of laughter before it swings shut. Kent drapes an arm over each of their shoulders and says, “Hey guys. We’re starting the White Elephant. Jack, you’re playing, right?”

Jack looks up at Kent, clearly startled. “Oh, ah, yeah. Shitty chose both of our gifts, so I apologize in advance.”

They all laugh and head back inside, a change in temperature Bitty is immensely grateful for. Kent slips an arm around Bitty’s waist and tugs him back a little to quietly tell him, “I told Mom and Izzy.”

Bitty turns to him in surprise. They were supposed to have that discussion together tonight, so something must have forced the issue. “How’d it go?”

“Mom’s thrilled, but you knew that’d happen.” Kent pauses and squeezes Bitty’s side. “Izzy…will come around.”

Which Bitty was also expecting, but it’s still a hard thing to hear. He doesn’t feel too worried though; holidays might be awkward, but it’s nothing he won’t handle to be with Kent.

“That’s alright. I—um, I told Jack.”

“How’d  _ he  _ take it?” Kent asks, gaze landing on Jack, who’s reclined in an armchair near where everyone’s gathering by the tree.

“Complicated,” Bitty answers honestly. “Talk later?”

Kent hums his agreement and heads with Bitty over to the tree so the gift exchange can start. Bitty perches on the armrest next to Jack and Kent settles cross-legged at his feet, head leaning up against the chair’s cushioned frame.

The snow sticks to the windows and the clouds are growing thicker, cutting the light into a dull haze that should feel kind of dreary. But the café is warm and the lights from the Christmas tree are glowing cheerfully and Bitty, surrounded as he is by people he loves and the soft promise of bright things around the corner, doesn’t feel like he’s missing a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the uninitiated, [White Elephant](https://www.whiteelephantrules.com/) is a holiday game where everyone brings a wrapped gift (in my experience usually cheap and funny) and everyone gets a turn to open a gift or steal someone else's. It's a fun way to handle gift-giving esp in groups where not everyone knows each other!
> 
> For the curious, this fic takes place in 2019 (and will continue into 2020)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring non-explicit references to sexual acts (driving home that mature rating) and healthy communication <3

It’s late January when Kent finally gets to show up at Bitty’s doorstep with a bouquet of tulips (Bitty’s favorite) behind his back, rocking up and down on the balls of his feet. Mrs. Henderson, who lives across the hall, hobbles past and pats him on the shoulder as she says, “Good luck, kid.” Kent laughs and shoots finger guns at her because it always makes her smile.

Then, he knocks on the door and waits.

“One second!” Bitty shouts from inside the apartment, and Kent hears some scuffling before the door opens to reveal—

Bitty, standing with a pretty impressive collection of white and yellow daisies (Kent’s favorite) in one hand.

“No fuckin’ way!” Kent whines, but he’s grinning broadly when he steps inside and crowds Bitty up against the couch. “How’d you find out? I only told—”

He freezes as the realization dawns, and Bitty smugly supplies, “Adam? Who told Justin, who told me. Honestly, if you don’t know those boys gossip like old hens by now it’s your own fault, sweetheart.”

Kent drops his head down onto Bitty’s shoulder and groans. “Ugh. But I wanted to surprise you.”

Bitty pats his head, smoothing his fingers through his hair. “I _was_ surprised. Yesterday at brunch, when Justin told me.”

“Not th’ same,” Kent grumbles, tucking his free arm around Bitty’s waist and slipping his fingers up the hem of his shirt. “You owe me a surprise.”

Bitty sucks in a shallow breath. “Do I?”

Kent tilts his head so that his lips nudge against the bare skin of Bitty’s neck, sighing hot breath that makes Bitty shiver. “Mhm. Got any ideas?”

“You could quit your job for me,” Bitty says, voice breathy. “I hear that gets good results.”

Kent hums. “I probably should. My boss is _really_ unprofessional.”

“Is he?” Kent nips at Bitty’s neck. Bitty’s hand tightens in his hair.

“Yeah,” Kent murmurs, and slides his hand further up Bitty’s shirt. “He blew me against the cash register this one time.”

Bitty laughs, bright and startled. “I did _not!”_

“Oh.” Kent tilts his head, carefully sets his bouquet on the back of the couch, and matter-of-factly says, “You’ve got two weeks,” as he drops to his knees.

 

~*~

 

Bitty ambles back in from the bathroom and flops down onto the bed, half sprawled across Kent’s chest. “You know,” he mutters into Kent’s collarbone, “we’re not great at waiting for things.”

“Delayed gratification is overrated,” Kent tells him, shifting to drape an arm over his back. Bitty smells like sweat and Kent’s cologne and Kent waited two years to have this again.

“I love you,” Bitty says, which Kent knew—it’s not even the first time Bitty’s said it today. But fuck, if Kent could choose the last thing he’ll ever hear it’d probably be that.

He says back, “I love you too, babe. So fucking much.”

Bitty pushes up onto his forearms and looks down at Kent with warm, half-lidded eyes. “Tell me about the job.”

“Uh, well I got an offer from the bank in Boston,” Kent says. “But—I think I’m going with Martin & Falcon.”

Bitty tilts his head. “The insurance company? Why?”

Kent quirks his lips. “Uh, I mean the commute is a lot shorter. I could come visit at lunch, probably, which—I mean, if you want.” Bitty smiles, so Kent takes that as a yes. “And, uh—one of the partners, George? She’s got a wife.”

“She told you that?” Bitty asks, excitement tinging his voice.

“Yeah. She like, kinda mentioned it casually? But I think it was on purpose.” Kent laughs. “Like, she was fucking daring you to come work here if you were a bigot or whatever. I really liked her.”

Bitty ducks his head down, nuzzling against Kent’s cheek. “I’m glad.”

“Me too. I—maybe it’s dumb, but like. Later, in my interview I didn’t feel weird being like, ‘Yeah, I do the books for my boyfriend’s business,’ and I didn’t—I didn’t frame it that way at all, in Boston.” Kent closes his eyes and presses into Bitty’s contact, breathes in deeply. “That matters.”

Bitty hums and kisses lightly at Kent’s jaw. “It’s a pretty small company, right? They probably can’t offer you as much?”

Kent shrugs, lifting a hand to Bitty’s face. “That’s okay,” he says softly. He brushes his thumb across Bitty’s cheek, the freckles that have faded after years away from the Georgia sun. “I like people I can grow with.”

There’s a thick silence, comfortingly heavy in the narrow spaces between their bodies, the languid current between their gazes. Bitty traces his hand down Kent’s arm and whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

A lump forms in Kent’s throat that makes his voice quiver. “Thanks, Bits. Love you.”

“I love you too, honey,” Bitty tells him, pressing a kiss to his lips before slinking down to lay his head on his chest again. They just lay there like that for a while, until Bitty says, “I guess we can tell everyone now.”

“Uh, yeah. You decided who you’re promoting, yeah?”

Bitty nods against Kent’s chest. “I’m going with both Chris and Will. I don’t think Chris wants as many hours as you did, the poor boy. And Will is the best in the bakery whenever I can’t be there, anyway.”

“Sounds great, babe. I’ll start training them Friday?” Kent feels Bitty watching him, maybe trying to figure out if he’s having second-thoughts or anything. He isn’t, but—leaving is gonna be really fucking weird. It feels kind of like ditching his family, even though he knows it isn’t really the same thing.

“That’ll give me enough time to let them know, I think,” Bitty agrees. “I—I guess you’ll tell our regulars, too? And Jack.”

Technically Jack _is_ a regular, but Kent gets the distinction, probably a little too well. “Yeah. That’s—gonna be harder, maybe.”

“He’ll be happy for you. He cares about us a lot.” Bitty pauses, something on the tip of his tongue, and then admits, “I…care about him a lot, too.”

Kent thinks—he might know what Bitty is leading into here. He’s been picking up on the signs, noticing little things Bitty does when they all interact. But he doesn’t want to push it. “Uh, yeah. I—so do I. Jack’s—he’s really great.”

“I—this is—and I wanna make sure you know, I—we don’t have to,” Bitty says quickly, the words rushing out in a tangle. “But I’ve been wondering if—maybe we could—date him? Together, I mean. If he wants and if you want and—”

“Can I—can I have a sec?” Kent cuts in, maybe a little harsher than he needed to but Bitty’s voice is taking that frantic pitch that makes it hard for either of them to breathe. Bitty nods mutely and drops his head, sucking in slow breaths through his nose.

Kent closes his eyes and tilts his chin up towards the ceiling. It’s—Kent really likes Jack, he does. They get along really well and Jack makes Kent happy, and he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual, and if things weren’t working out with Bitty—but things _are_ good with Bitty. Really fucking good, and Kent—he’s so fucking scared of losing that again. He’s not sure what he’d do, if this all fell apart. It’s not that he’s jealous or anything, because if Bitty wanted to leave Kent for Jack or anyone else, he honestly would have done that a long fucking time ago, but—

“We don’t have to do this,” Bitty says, quieter and calmer now. “I want—Kenny, I need to make sure you know I’m in this with you, okay? With—whatever happens with Jack—which I think could be really good, and we could be really happy—I’m with you. I love you.”

“I—I love you too, Bits. I’m just—I’m really fucking scared of fucking this up, you know?” Kent confesses. “I like Jack a lot and, like—I think so too. We could be really happy. But ‘could’ is pretty fucking scary.”

Bitty presses a kiss to Kent’s chest and finds one of Kent’s hands with his own, squeezing gently. “I know, and I know it’s a—it’s a lot. We’re going through plenty of change as it is.”

Kent pulls Bitty closer, snuggling against him. “Can I think about it? And we talk more later?”

“Honey, of course,” Bitty says, nuzzling his face into Kent’s shoulder with an encouraging smile.

“Thanks, Bits,” Kent answers quietly, and they fall into an easy silence. He loses track of time a little, until his stomach rumbles loudly and they both laugh.

Bitty yawns. “I know we said we’d go out for dinner, but could we just order a pizza or something? Sex made me tired.”

Kent laughs fondly. _“You’re_ tired? I definitely did like, seventy percent of the work there.”

“Don’t make me come twice if you don’t want me sleepy afterwards,” Bitty grumbles, and koalas around Kent resolutely.

“Fine,” Kent says with an exaggerated sigh, like there’s somewhere else he could possibly want to be, and reaches for his cell phone. “Domino’s or Pizza Hut?”

Bitty mutters, “Papa John’s,” just to be a little shit, probably. Kent loves him so fucking much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kent and Bitty are bad at waiting for things and so am I. The last chapter should be up tomorrow or the day after!!


	6. Chapter 6

“Dr. Zimmermann?”

Jack hums and looks up from reviewing Tia’s paper to give her his attention. “You can call me Jack, Tia.”

Tia ignores him, and whispers conspiratorially, “That guy keeps looking at you. I think he’s into you.”

Jack follows her gaze and laughs; she’s staring at Kent, who waves when he notices Jack looking. “That’s my friend. He’s probably just bored.”

Tia, seemingly unimpressed, points out, “You keep staring at him too.”

Jack looks back down at her paper. “So on page five, I like this claim you made but you need to substantiate it with—”

“Do you have a crush on him?”

Jack presses his fingers into his temples. He’ll never understand his students’ obsession with his personal life. Shitty tells him it’s because Jack by and large appears to not have one, which obviously isn’t true, but. “Whether or not I have a crush is not more important than your education.”

“Sorry, Dr. Zimmermann.”

“Jack.”

Tia smiles ruefully. “Sorry, Jack.”

“That’s okay,” Jack says. “Now, tell me what led you to this claim and we can figure out how to provide better evidence to support it.”

 

~*~

 

Tia leaves about half an hour later with, in Jack’s opinion, some excellent feedback with which to improve her paper. On her way out, she stops to buy a coffee and leans in to say something to Kent, who seems momentarily startled and then laughs, and winks at her when he hands her the to-go cup. Shortly after, Kent grabs himself a lunch and plops down in Tia’s recently-vacated seat.

“Hey,” Jack greets. “What was that about?”

Kent bites a chunk out of his scone, and crumbs drop all over the table. “Tia says I should ask you on a date.”

Tia’s next thesis review is going to be in Jack’s office on campus. At seven AM. Jack laughs, more out of awkward nerves than anything. “What’d—uh, what’d you tell her?”

“Secret,” Kent answers with a wink, completely nonchalantly. _“Totally_ unrelated, are you coming to the Valentine’s Day mixer?”

Jack isn’t sure if that segue was purposefully suggestive or not, which—it shouldn’t be, because he knows Kent and Bitty are getting back together (privately, he’s pretty sure they already are, but he’s not going to comment on that) and Kent _knows_ Jack knows that. But, the way he says it—and the way he reacted to Tia—well, that doesn’t really matter.

“Ah, probably. Bitty mentioned it yesterday but he didn’t really explain?”

Kent hums around his lunch. “’S pretty chill. Targeted mostly at single people, obviously, but like Chris is coming with his girlfriend, so.” He pauses to take a drink, then explains, “Last year we wanted to do, like, a speed dating thing? But figuring out a matching system that accounted for everyone’s preferences was a _total_ fuckin’ nightmare so we gave up and did this instead.”

“Makes sense,” Jack says.

“Anyway, you can just come and chill, or there’s icebreakers and stuff—and we’ve got a buncha types of Pride buttons for people to wear to like, help break the ice with people they might be into?” Kent shrugs. “Bits was worried that’d be weird but people liked it last year. Obviously like, optional.”

Jack can see why people would appreciate the option. He’d have a hard time walking up to someone he wasn’t sure was even interested in his gender (or in romance) and trying to flirt with them. Not that he really flirts in general, usually, but that’s beside the point.

“I’ll be there.” Wryly, he adds, “But if I see one of my students and they hit on me, I’m suing you for emotional damages. Shitty had a brief stint as a law student—he’d represent me.”

Kent laughs, head thrown back, and kicks lightly at Jack’s leg. When he resettles, his foot nudges against Jack’s and he doesn’t move it away, a simple contact Jack is oddly hyperaware of. “Deal.”

Kent goes strangely quiet, then, and Jack purses his lips, busies himself with collecting his papers and throwing away his empty muffin wrapper. When he sits back down, Kent looks up and tells him, “Uh, I—I’ve got news.”

“Oh?” Jack asks, feeling something uncomfortable twist in his stomach in response to Kent’s hesitant tone.

“I got a job.” Kent’s smile is soft, tentative like he’s not sure how Jack will react. “I start in two weeks.”

Jack’s not really sure how he’s reacting, either. He’s happy for Kent, knows that this is a good thing for him in a lot of ways. He deserves success and a healthier relationship with Bitty, and whatever else he wants. But. “I’ll miss you,” Jack says honestly, wishing he hadn’t throw away the muffin wrapper so he’d have something to do with the fidgety energy in his hands.

Kent’s face does something complicated, his smile twitching away and then back into place. “I’ll, uh—I’ll miss you too. But I’ll be here a lot, still. And I mean, we could always, uh—we could like, hang out, you know? Not here.”

Jack gets the familiar feeling he’s missing a layer of the conversation. He’s not sure he wants to explore the nagging thought on the edge of his understanding, though, not when his current emotions are complicated enough to need some time to untangle already.

He still says, “I’d like that,” though, because he’s pretty sure that’s true. “And I’m—really happy for you, by the way. For the job and for—uh, you and Bitty.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Kent nudges Jack with his foot again, his shoe brushing lightly across Jack’s ankle. “That—means a lot.”

Jack nods and manages what he thinks is a genuine smile. They spend the rest of Kent’s lunch break talking about his job—some small insurance company based just outside Samwell that Jack resolves to look up later, just out of curiosity—and then Kent heads back to work and Jack packs up his things to head to his afternoon lecture, thoughts swirling in his head.

 

~*~

 

Jack shows up to the Valentine’s Day mixer almost an hour late, because Shitty spent an inordinate amount of time picking out a bowtie—which was especially ridiculous, because Jack knows for a fact Shitty barely tolerates wearing clothes at all, on a normal day.

When they do finally get there, Jack lingers at the door for a moment, taking in the crowd. There are less people here than there were for Bitty’s Christmas party, which Jack finds a little surprising, but he assumes that some of the regulars may have other, more private plans this evening. Still, the space seems to be fluid with bodies, people mingling and laughing, gesturing with cups of coffee or sitting with plates holding pastries and chocolate. Most people are wearing the buttons Bitty and Kent made, which Jack realizes are in a bowl near the door.

Shitty quickly pins on a button with a cartoon cat that says ‘Ally’ on it and zips away, presumably to see if Larissa is here. Jack rolls his eyes fondly while he sorts through the buttons. He’s not sure if there’s anything there—despite her penchant for eavesdropping on other people's’ lives, Larissa’s very tight-lipped about her own—but for Shitty’s love-sick sake he hopes there is.

After some searching, Jack finds a demisexual flag button that he pins to his chest and looks around for Bitty and Kent. He finds them tucked against the couch together, Kent’s arm snug around Bitty’s shoulders and Bitty’s hand on Kent’s knee.

Bitty has a rainbow button, and Kent is just wearing a button with what looks like a person shrugging on it—a popular option Jack sees on several other people in the room, too. Jack smiles through the subtle tightness in his chest and heads over, spirits lifting when he sees the way Bitty’s—and then Kent’s—faces light up when they catch sight of Jack.

“Jack! I’m so glad you made it,” Bitty gushes, and climbs into Kent’s lap to make room for Jack on the couch. “We thought maybe you changed your mind.”

Jack waits a second, expecting them to scoot over—since he takes up a fair bit more space than Bitty, and it isn’t like there was a lot of room to begin with—but they both just stare at him expectantly. Kent even pats the couch cushion and says, “Wanna sit down, man?”

Huh. Weird. “Oh, sure, thanks.” Jack takes a seat and tries not to think about how his thigh is pressed up Kent’s. Or how Bitty’s legs are half in Jack’s lap. He shouldn’t really think about those things. There’s not a point to them. Instead, he looks at Kent and says, “I, uh—I like your button.”

Which, Jack realizes the second the words leave his mouth, is probably a weird way to start a conversation, but. He tried. Kent just laughs and tells him, “Thanks. I had a bi versus pan crisis in college and then I was just like, eh, fuck it, you know? I’m vaguely queer and I’m probably gonna marry Bitty anyway so—uh, fuck.”

Kent laughs sheepishly and buries his face in the back of Bitty’s shoulder, cheeks pink with embarrassment. Bitty is blushing too, like he’s surprised by the admission. Which Jack thinks is a little silly, because—who wouldn’t want to marry Bitty? Or. Well, it’s obvious why _Kent_ would want to. That’s—clearly what Jack meant.

No one says anything, which apparently means it’s up to Jack to rescue the conversation, which. The expectation seems a little unfairly high. He clears his throat and says awkwardly, “That’s, uh—that’s cool. I think a lot of people feel that way. Not—not, _um,_ I meant the—the queer—there are a lot of those buttons.”

 _Crisse._ Jack wonders if there’s enough snow outside to bury himself in. Bitty seems bemused, though, a soft smirk on his face. He pats Jack on the arm and comments, “You boys are a mess.”

Kent mumbles something unintelligible into Bitty’s shirt and tightens his arms around Bitty’s waist. Apparently Bitty understands him, because he answers softly, “Yeah, I do,” and squeezes Jack’s bicep before pulling his hand away.

The silence resumes, but less awkwardly this time. Jack looks around the room and spots Shitty talking to Larissa—or, _at_ Larissa, maybe. She’s sketching while he talks, but every few seconds she looks up and smiles at him, so maybe that’s going pretty well.

Kent nudges Jack with his elbow and asks, “So, uh, how’s the semester going?”

“Oh, ah—pretty decent. I’m teaching different courses this time, but I have a lot of the same students,” Jack says. “And a few with undergraduate theses that I’m advising, which has been…interesting.”

“Yeah? That sounds—” Kent cuts himself off as his eyes land on something behind Jack’s head. “Oh _shit,_ hey man!”

He stands quickly—dislodging Bitty, who squawks at him in a huff—and darts off with a grin on his face. Jack turns to follow Kent’s path and sees a tall, broad-shouldered man with glasses, stomping his boots clean of snow.

Bitty seems excited too now, and grabs at Jack’s hand. “That’s our friend Adam—wanna come meet him?”

Bitty’s hand is surprisingly warm, for how cold he always complains about being. Jack blinks, realizes he’s been asked a question. “Oh, um. Sure.”

Jack lets Bitty tug him over to Kent and apparently-Adam, who are talking by the door. Adam is loud. Jack can hear him saying, “—time studying, so he said to come without him,” even though he can’t pick up Kent’s answer at all.

“Wait,” Bitty asks when they walk over, “did Justin really abandon you on Valentine’s Day to _study?”_

Jack definitely feels out of place already. He looks between the three of them expectantly, but Adam is too busy answering Bitty to notice him.

“Ch’yeah, bro. Ridiculously uncool,” he complains, and turns away to dig through the dwindling selection of buttons in the bowl.

Kent raises an eyebrow. “You coulda, like, stayed home with him.”

“Nah, dude needs space. Sometimes you gotta have a meltdown in peace, you feel?”

Jack definitely does not feel. He’s not always the most sociable person, but. It’s nice to have company when he’s feeling overwhelmed. Everyone is probably different, though, so he tries to feel less annoyed than he is.

Bitty puts a hand on Jack’s back and says, “Well—anyway, Adam, this is Jack. Jack, this is our friend Adam, from college.”

Adam looks up and drops the bisexual pride pin he’s holding in favor of offering Jack an unnecessarily strong handshake. “Hey, bro, cool to meet you.”

“Oh, um. You—too.” Jack shoves his hands back in his pockets and leans back on his heels awkwardly. “Is—um, you stayed in the area too?”

Adam furrows his eyebrows, seemingly confused. He grabs the button he dropped and pins it to his chest, and then says, “Oh, like, after college? Kinda. We live in Boston.”

Jack assumes the ‘we’ means him and Justin, who is apparently holed up in their apartment. It sounds like maybe they’re dating, or something, but. Jack pretty much avoids that kind of assumption, now.

When they head back over to the group, Kent taps Jack on the shoulder and fills him in. “Adam and Justin are queer platonic,” he explains. “I, uh—you looked confused.”

Jack laughs sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, I was. Thanks.”

“No problem, man. I figured it’s easier to just tell you, they don’t care. Also, like—Adam’s probably gonna try and pick up tonight?” Kent shrugs. “So I didn’t want you to like, get the wrong idea.”

“Oh.” Jack’s not really sure what his impression of Adam is, if he’s being honest. But if he’s friends with Bitty and Kent, he probably isn’t too bad. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

Kent smiles, and laughs a little as, sure enough, Adam ditches Bitty to strike up a conversation with a tall girl with glasses. He says something that makes her laugh and she takes her glasses off and trades pairs with him, then laughs again when she tries to look around.

“Dude has the dumbest pick-up lines,” Kent mutters. “And still gets laid like, all the fucking time.”

Jack says, “Tall and blond. Everyone’s type.”

Kent smirks, flicks his eyes down from Jack’s face and back up again. “Not everyone’s.”

“Oh. Uh, I mean—” Jack splutters and falls silent, flustered and blushing. He looks over at Bitty, who’s talking to Derek and Chris while he gathers up icebreaker cards people have left around the room.

Kent laughs and takes pity. “I’m gonna go help Bits, but uh—you’re not leaving soon, right?”

“Um, no? I, uh—I carpooled with Shitty.” Which Jack is starting to think might have been a mistake, because Shitty is currently trying (and failing) to do a handstand while Larissa draws him. It seems like it’ll be a long night.

“Great! I’ll catch you in a bit then, yeah?” Kent asks, brushing his hand against Jack’s shoulder before he wanders away.

Jack watches as Kent comes up to Bitty and ducks down to press a kiss to his cheek and nuzzle against his face. Adam, from across the room, shouts, _“Foine!”_

“This is _my_ café, Adam Birkholtz!” Bitty shouts back, and squeals when Kent grabs him by the waist and lifts him up, legs kicking. “You have no power here!”

Jack smiles to himself, melancholy. Definitely a long night.

 

~*~

 

Almost two hours later, the crowd has thinned considerably, including the notable disappearance of Adam. Jack passes the time on the couch and enjoys the atmosphere. Mostly, he eavesdrops on Shitty and Larissa, who have relocated to an armchair nearby, with Larissa perched on the side and her feet draped in Shitty’s lap.

Jack is thinking about seeing if Kent could give him a ride home, since it seems like Shitty plans on staying until the whole place shuts down, when he realizes—well, he actually has no idea where Kent (or Bitty) are. Huh. They obviously haven’t left, but it’s been a little while since Jack can remember seeing them around.

He wonders if they snuck off somewhere to—well. That’s not really—Jack shouldn’t—it’s not really a good idea to picture his friends fucking, especially since he’s in public and it’d be weird to get an erection, and—Bitty and Kent probably aren’t fucking in the kitchen or anything anyway. That seems like it’d be a health code violation and Bitty probably cares about that kind of thing.

Jack’s mild crisis is interrupted by the bell chiming when the front door opens, to reveal Bitty and Kent hurrying back inside, cheeks and noses pink from the cold. Bitty looks around until his eyes land on Jack and he tilts his head up to whisper in Kent’s ear, and press a quick kiss under Kent’s jaw. Kent smiles and nods, then slips his arm around Bitty’s waist and squeezes gently—a gesture Jack has learned is usually meant for reassurance.

Bitty tugs off his scarf, Kent shrugs out of his coat, and they head over to the couch together. Jack tries to pretend he wasn’t staring and says, “Oh, um. Hi, guys.”

“Hi, hun.” Bitty sits down next to him and Kent settles on Bitty’s other side, arm curling back around his waist.

“What—” Jack starts, but he loses his train of thought because—Bitty and Kent are wearing new buttons, now, in addition to their old ones. It’s a flag he doesn’t recognize, with tri-colored stripes and a pi symbol in the middle.

Bitty, who must notice him staring, explains quietly, “It’s the poly flag. We, um—well, we were sort of hoping—if you, um—” he cuts off in an embarrassed huff and buries his face in Kent’s chest. “Lord, this was so much less embarrassing in my head.”

Kent laughs fondly, ruffles Bitty’s hair, and takes over. “We were, uh—we were hoping you might want one too.” He pauses, until it’s clear Jack doesn’t fully understand and isn’t going to answer. “Because—uh, ‘cause we kinda—uh, not kinda, fuck—like, a lot—we’re asking you to date us, Jack.”

It’s sort of funny, how Jack can feel the gears turning in his own head. It’s like those movies that Shitty complains about the sexism in but watches anyway, where everything slows down and a flashback sequence starts. He thinks about all the flirting that never really stopped, the suggestive comments that might have bordered on inappropriate, if Bitty or Kent had cared about that kind of thing.

Jack’s been quiet for too long, probably, and before he can figure out how to say what he’s feeling, Bitty nervously adds, “Um. You don’t—it’s, um, only if you’re comfortable obviously and if you don’t want to, we’ll still be friends? We—we both really like you and we just—um, we’d be happy with—however you want to be in our lives.”

“No, I—shit, I mean, yes? I—” Jack scrubs a hand over his face and laughs self-deprecatingly, a sentiment Kent mirrors. “If you—you’ve thought about this?”

Bitty hums in confirmation, but it’s Kent who answers, “Uh, yeah. A lot, actually. We’ve, uh—we’ve been talking about it for a couple weeks, figuring out what we’re comfortable with. If you need more time…”

He trails off, and Jack does take a moment to consider. The thing is—it really does make a lot of sense to him. Pretty much the entire time he’s known them, Bitty and Kent have been a pair—whether they admitted it to themselves or not, really. And Jack—he’s felt lonely, at times, maybe a little envious of what they had together. But he thinks—it’s never been about wanting to break that up so Jack could be with one of them. No, it’s—because it was Kent _and_ Bitty, creating something soft and warm—the kind of thing Jack wanted to be wrapped up in.

“I’d, um—I don’t need time,” he says, looking up at the both of them. “I—I’m sure there’s things we need to talk about—um, details, I guess? But I—I like you both a lot, too. And this—is something I want.”

Bitty sits up straighter and beams at Jack, his eyes so bright Jack feels giddy from the heat of it, like he could bottle whatever lives in that gaze and drink himself to intoxication. He smiles back, ducking his head a little, and laughs when Bitty practically launches himself at him for a hug.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Bitty says, a little breathless, laughing faintly as he shifts in Jack’s arms. It feels better than Jack had imagined, holding Bitty like this—his cheek warm against Jack’s chest, hands that are riddled with smooth burn scars brushing against his neck.

Kent says, “Skootch,” and jostles Bitty, who huffs at him but shifts so that he’s mostly in Jack’s lap and Kent can slide over. He wraps one arm around Jack’s shoulders and the other around Bitty, drawing them both into a hug.

The top of Bitty’s head is sort of jammed up under Jack’s chin and there are at least two elbows in places there shouldn’t be, and Jack gets the feeling people are starting to stare. He chuckles—which shoves an elbow farther into his ribs—and asks, “This is how it’s gonna be, eh?”

Kent says, “Hell yeah,” at almost the exact time Bitty agrees, “Sure is, sweetheart.”

From across the room, Jack locks eyes with Larissa, who smiles softly back at him. She’s carding fingers through Shitty’s hair while he flips through her sketchbook, occasionally stopping to point excitedly at something inside it, which steals her attention away again. They look peaceful, fit together like they grew up from the ground and tangled on the way to the sun.

This is pretty good, Jack thinks, as far as long nights go.

 

~*~

 

The first time Jack stays over at Kent’s apartment, he’s immensely grateful that he’s always been an early riser. Because despite it being Bitty’s day off, the two of them roll out of bed just after seven, when the morning sun is just starting to filter through the curtains—which, by the way, are curtains Jack would bet good money Bitty was the one to pick out.

When Jack teases him for the early morning, Bitty fusses, “This is three more hours of sleep than I normally get, _Doctor_ Zimmermann, so you can hush.”

Jack laughs, and Kent mutters something about being a light sleeper as his excuse—Jack suspects the real reason is that he just wants to spend more time with Bitty, which. It’s a pretty good reason, in Jack’s opinion.

There’s a slow amble into the kitchen, where Kent and Bitty pour themselves mugs of coffee and hop up onto the counter, taking small sips and sighing contentedly into their cups. Jack grabs himself a cup of his own and fills it to the brim, thinking idly that Kent’s coffee is probably pretty good. He probably even uses the same beans that Bitty gets for the shop, and that blend is always really nice especially in the morning.

Jack takes a deep swig from his mug and nearly gags around it. The coffee is bitter and stale, somehow thin in consistency and still too cold and heavy on his tongue, and he turns to Kent and Bitty with a look of utter betrayal.

Kent snickers, cowlicks flopping down into his face while he laughs, eyes a mesmerizing translucent color in the dreary morning half-light. Bitty leans to the side and presses his cheek against Kent’s shoulder, a rueful grin playing across his lips as he promises, “You get used to it, sweetheart.”

Jack takes another sip and smiles. Yeah, he thinks he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.
> 
> *wheezes* this is the end?? Thank you so much to everyone who read as a WIP and encouraged me <3 This was a fun experience, both in writing style and publishing method.
> 
> Extra shoutout to shipped-goldstandard, my incredible beta who I love and talks me through a writing crisis an average of 5 times per week, probably. 
> 
> I'm leaving this universe for a while to focus on another project, but I have lots of headcanons that might find their way into print one day! Feel free to come chat with me, too <3

**Author's Note:**

> I love PB&J with my entire trash heart! Come scream with me about them [on Tumblr <3](http://www.yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hi friends abominableobriens is, like, the greatest person and made [_fic covers_](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com/post/158888247077/kent-and-bitty-were-doing-pretty-well-as-far-as) for this story <3


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